Three years ago, I learned that a trap had been set for my husband, Lorenzo “Enzo” Moretti, Don of the Moretti family, by his nemesis, Dante Falcone.

To protect him, I secretly sabotaged his private jet, preventing him from flying to Miami for a negotiation.

Enzo’s mistress, Sofia Gallo, volunteered to go in his place to deliver the intelligence.

We later received news that her convoy had been ambushed and she had been brutally murdered. But a body was never found.

Enzo fell apart when he heard the news.

The story was that he’d developed a violent form of PTSD. I believed he was drowning in remorse.

Over the past three years, I have been in and out of the hospital countless times because of him.

And this time, he pushed me down the stairs—and I lost our child.

Worn down, I happened to overhear a conversation between Enzo and his consigliere, Marco.

“Don, Sofia is alive. Why are you still keeping up this charade? Aren’t you afraid the Donna will leave you when she finds out?”

“Leave me? Angry? What right does she have to be angry?”

He let out a cold laugh.

“If it weren’t for her, Sofia would never have been taken by that bastard Dante. Every bit of pain she’s feeling now? She brought it all on herself.”

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1

My mind went blank. I stared through the crack in the door, my eyes wide with disbelief.

In the study, Enzo held a photograph, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s been three years, and Sofia is as vibrant as ever. Dante must be treating her well. I’m sure she’s happy.”

Enzo’s Consigliere, Marco Vettori, adjusted his glasses, a note of caution in his voice. “If Miss Sofia weren’t safe, you wouldn’t have been so calm these past three years. Don, do you really intend to feign this illness for the rest of your life? The Donna’s miscarriage this time… the damage to her body is severe.”

“The doctor said she might never be able to conceive again. If she finds out—”

With a crisp snap, Enzo tossed the photo aside.

His eyes darkened. “Then make sure she never finds out.”

A sigh followed, laced with a helplessness I’d never heard from him before.

“When I lost Sofia back then, I was so angry I lost my mind. That was the only reason I took it out on Isabella. The first time she asked for a divorce, I panicked. I lied, said I had PTSD. These three years, watching her worry about me every day… I hated her. But seeing her suffer… a part of me ached for her.”

He even confessed, “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m the one who’s truly gone mad.”

“But I’ve made my peace with it. Sofia has made her choice. It’s time to let her go and fix things with Isabella. As for a child… we’ll have one eventually.”

Then, as if recalling a fond memory, a gentle smile graced his lips.

But for me, it was like plunging into an abyss. A chill spread through my body, coiling around my throat until I could barely breathe.

Three years ago, I overheard that Enzo’s nemesis, Dante Falcone, had hired hitmen to eliminate him in Miami.

The moment I found out, I contacted Enzo and sabotaged his private jet to stop him.

The intelligence was critical, and he hesitated until Sofia offered to go in his place.

Not long after, we got the news: her convoy was ambushed, and she was presumed dead.

Enzo fell apart. He sank into despair, his grief twisting into violent rages.

All this time, I thought it was guilt that had consumed him.

But now I understood. All his grief, all his anger, all his madness—it wasn’t because of guilt. It was because the woman he loved was with another man.

I stumbled out of the hospital wing in a daze, the memories of my countless visits here—all because of him—flashing through my mind.

During one of his episodes, Enzo lost all reason.

Some were so severe he seemed ready to destroy himself.

To stop him from destroying himself, I let him destroy me instead. I became his target.

Sometimes, I thought I might die at his hands.

Back then, I told myself it was just the illness.

He didn’t mean it.

But now I realized—maybe he really did want me dead.

The ringing of my phone startled me. I answered without thinking.

The moment I answered, Enzo’s gentle voice came through. “Darling, where did you go? Why aren’t you in your room?”

Three days ago, Enzo lost control at the top of the stairs and pushed me.

I was three months pregnant. The child didn’t make it.

The fall caused permanent damage to my body. The doctor said I might never be able to get pregnant again.

That day, Enzo knelt by my hospital bed for a long time, weeping. He swore he would control himself from now on, swore he would never hurt me again.

But I had heard that promise too many times in the last three years. It meant nothing to me anymore.

I thought about it for three days and finally decided to convince him to go to Switzerland for specialized treatment.

And today, I'd discovered the biggest lie of all.

“Darling? Why aren’t you talking? Can’t you hear me?”

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and answered as if nothing had happened. “I can hear you. It felt stuffy in the room. I just stepped out for a bit.”

Enzo sighed in relief. His voice softened, coaxing me as if I were a child. “It’s my fault.”

“I’ve been so busy with family affairs—I’ve been neglecting you.”

“Isabella, if the room is too stuffy, how about I check you out of the hospital? Haven’t you always said you wanted to travel to Italy? Let me take you.”

His gentle tone was a knife in my heart. My chest ached with every breath.

Enzo and I were childhood sweethearts. As children, he was always my protector.

Whenever the elders teased him about finding a wife, he’d puff out his little chest and declare to anyone who would listen that I was the only one for him.

We dated. We married. Everything was perfect.

Our families gave their blessings. Our friends were envious.

But over these three years, he had clawed back every ounce of love he had ever given me, leaving only hatred and lies in its place.

I took a slow breath, about to respond, when his voice on the other end suddenly grew urgent.

“Darling, something’s come up with the family. You go ahead and get discharged. We’ll talk when I get home.”

He hung up in a hurry.

I lowered my hand, watching the children in the park running and laughing under the sun. After a long while, I made a secure call.

“Luca, I want a divorce.”

My brother, Luca Romano, was silent for a few seconds. He didn’t try to talk me out of it. He just said, “If you need help, the family will back you with everything we have. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I gave a soft “Mm,” a faint warmth flickering in my chest.

As soon as we hung up, Luca sent a family lawyer my way.

I contacted the lawyer, explained my situation, and asked him to draft a divorce agreement. Then I headed to the hospital to begin the discharge process.

What I didn’t expect… was to see someone who had been “dead” for three years—Sofia—in the hospital’s VIP wing.

She was in a hospital gown, her face pale, her frail body leaning into Enzo’s embrace.

She whispered something. Enzo’s face darkened.

His eyes turned cold.

My heart began to pound, as if something from the depths had reached up, grabbed my ankles, and was pulling me down.

That look on Enzo’s face—it was the same one he had when he lost control. The next second, his fist could fly.

My heart was in my throat as I watched him slowly reach for Sofia.

But then, his hand moved, gently brushing a tear from the corner of her eye.

I let out a breath, my body relaxing against the wall for support. A bitter laugh escaped me.

Of course. That was Sofia—the woman he had longed for, mourned, and obsessed over for three years. And to think I actually believed he might hurt her the way he hurt me.

How could I have been so foolish?

I returned home in a daze. The frame of our wedding photo on the wall was shattered, the glass webbed with cracks. My chest tightened, as if something sharp had pierced it.

That was the photo I had picked from thousands. Enzo had hung it there with his own hands.

But as his episodes grew more severe, the frame had been replaced again and again.

This time, it hadn’t been replaced.

That evening, I heard the front door open.

I was staring at the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me when Enzo walked in.

Unlike other times, he didn't ignore me.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he walked straight toward me.

I calmly closed the browser, pretending everything was fine.

The next second, I was pulled into a warm embrace.

His chin rested on my shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.

“What were you looking at? You were so focused you didn’t even notice me come home.”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just browsing.”

Seeing my calm expression, Enzo frowned but said nothing.

I watched him pick up his pajamas and head for the bathroom. After a long hesitation, I called out to him.

“Enzo, why won’t you go abroad for treatment? Do you really love me? Or… is there someone else in your heart? Have these three years just been one long lie?”

For the past three years, I had sanded down all my edges, molding myself into a pliant, quiet woman—someone unrecognizable. I had become a pale imitation of myself, all to keep his violent emotions stable.

I never lost my temper in front of him. I never even allowed myself the slightest hint of unhappiness.

Without realizing it, I had forgotten that I was human, too, that I also needed an outlet.

Enzo’s face darkened. For a split second, guilt flashed in his eyes.

He crouched in front of me, taking my hand, his voice low and comforting. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I thought I could control myself. I didn’t expect it to happen again and again. But please believe me—I love you. I’ve never lied to you. Not once.”

Despite the apparent sincerity in his eyes, my gaze fell to his open collar. The rose tattoo with a ‘B’ for Bella—my nickname—had been artfully modified, a new vine twisting the letter into an ‘S’. A sickening wave of absurdity washed over me.

“Is that so?” I asked, my voice light. “Then do you remember what you said the day you confessed to me?”

He fell silent.

I knew he remembered.

That day, when he told me he loved me, he had also promised—he would never cheat, never betray me. He would cherish me forever.

And I had told him that if he ever broke that promise, I would leave him without a second thought.

I smiled faintly, tracing the corner of his eye with my finger. “Enzo, I hope you keep your promise. I’ll keep mine, too. If I ever find out you’ve lied to me or betrayed me, I will leave. And you will never find me again.”

Panic washed over his face. He pulled me into a desperate embrace, as if trying to merge me into his very bones. His voice trembled in my ear. “No, Isabella. We won’t be separated. Never—not in this lifetime.”

“Do you remember?” he continued, his voice unsteady. “That year—you went to a party in Brooklyn with your friends and got caught in a street shootout.

I was afraid something would happen to you, so I rushed in to find you.

I took a bullet for you. I nearly died, Isabella.”

“You were terrified. I was in the hospital for a month. You asked me if I regretted it. I told you I didn’t. So please, believe me, Isabella. I love you. I’ll never betray you. I’ll never lie to you. I’ll get better. I’ll control myself. I’ll get treatment. Please… don’t give up on me.”

My neck grew damp with his tears, but my heart was a stone in my chest.

Enzo was a master liar. Even now, he was still deceiving me.

But seeing the calm on my face, he—as usual—assumed I had been placated. He kissed my forehead gently, stood up, and went into the bathroom.

Soon, the sound of running water came from behind the door.